Tag: universe

Poetry

Moon Poem

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Moon Poem
I lit a candle and even that was too bright.
I tried to sleep, and wanted to write, but
Tonight,
It’s meant to be dark.
The only illumination-
Your lighthouse glow.
A sea of crumpled, doodled paper,
Envelop the lost sailor,
Tea getting cold
And the embers of a last lit candle wick
Begin to succumb to the night wave.
That breaking evening,
And the striking beauty of her ascent.
I am reminded to rise,
Declarations of epiphany
But more specifically,
I hear incomprehensible silence.
And that’s the point.

Poetry

Craving Connection

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CHINESE NEW YEAR

Craving Connection
The nameless old man walked slowly down the street.
Purposefully he placed each foot
Like a gentle kiss on the Earth beneath him.
Walking towards her
A beacon, on the sun-drenched stoop.
Her golden, red hair and head in prayer,
Quietly he approached her.
Not to break either meditative concentrations
But with thought, he asked,
“Why are you so sad, little girl?”
The sleepwalking sweetheart only raised her head.
Like a buttercup humbly accepting the first amber glow of day.
Her arm extended like a morning stretch
Moving through water,
Breath low in her belly.
She simply touched his arm in connected relief.
Without breaking any code of silence,
He heard her unspoken words.
His body a bristlecone pine,
A living witness to more than a million sunrises and sunsets.
The ground became a symphony of economy
And her, the conductor.
Stillness lowered the gravity of the air around them.
And just for that moment,
The only two people in existence
Were the nameless old man and that sad little girl.

Poetry

THE OLD WOMAN AND THE OLD BICYCLE

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THE OLD WOMAN AND THE OLD BICYCLE

The Old Woman And The Old Bicycle
The breeze is cold and sharp and honest on my walk without you.
Confusion wells up in my eyes
As I sit uncomfortably in the patience of universal design.
I feel lost, as I usually do right before I am found.
Cars blur past,
Some rattling with age
While others flaunt their shiny newness.
My idle hands crimp and fuss.
Absent is the hand that held them steady.
Touching my face to remember I’m here
And I’m real and I feel,
As the crisp air blowing on my sore neck wasn’t enough.
The marks of my strain and stress now visible.
Between my vacant family,
My lost husband,
My insurfuckingmountable depression,
And my god damned dead dad
I want to step in front of that shiny new car and stop it.
Stop the 30 years of abuse
Stop the nightmares
Stop the tears
Stop the loss
And stop the unheard, maddening loneliness.
I tried to call so many people and no one answered.
I’m reminded of the time I told my cousin that when no one answers
That means it’s time to call to the universe.
So I called to her.
Please guide me to joy.
Please carve a lighter path.
Please take pity on my tired and bruised body.
I’ll stay!
I’ll keep walking!
I’ll walk night and day and day and night
Just please stand beside me.
In all your warmth and rapture and rage
Show me some kindness.
Show me your mercy.
My trembling hand pulled a card from a deck earlier and it said, “Power.”
Was that meant for you?
For I cannot see mine, but yours is surely in the air.
Is mine hidden in the hand behind your back?
Or is it in my footsteps?
Maybe my legs will grow stronger with every mile.
Maybe the rhythm of my movement will steady the equilibrium of my breath.
Maybe my hands will effortlessly fall to my sides as my head dizzies with quietness.
And then, maybe, I’ll hear her.
In the lemon tree,
Or the hazy far off police sirens,
Or in the melting background hum of rush hour traffic,
Or in the soft paddle of an old bicycle wheel.
And as the street lamps flicker on,
And the dusk settles in,
And as the misty Olympic clouds blanket the Pasadena mountains, maybe,
I’ll hear her say, “take another step.”

Poetry

The Speaking Hummingbirds

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THE SPEAKING HUMMINGBIRDS

The Speaking Hummingbirds
A hummingbird appeared to me three times today.
An unusual occurrence,
Perhaps decorated with significance.
She paused in the sky,
Reminding me that every second holds prominence.
I hopscotched around dried, dead leaves like lost memories.
Swearing the flowers beside me said something,
What did they say as I passed by?
All the while a crow’s wings sounded like unraveling paper as he whooshed overhead.
My mind painting on you, vibrant violet and gold,
The colors of connection.
My ankle tickled inside my shoe with
Faded wishes of you
Stroking it again, like the most delicate harp.
I am in love with not the memories of you,
I am in love with not the illusion of you,
I am in love with the essence of you.
“It’s all very simple, isn’t it?” asked the little hummingbird
From the woman’s tattooed ankle.
He is a dream-catcher.
Standing by my side in my make-believe world
Changing shapes and kissing me.
I have never seen him naked
But I have felt his ecstasy, I have given myself to him
Every night my intrinsic nature and lifeblood courses with his
The moon our conduit for pure intimacy.
Freeing me, liberating me, releasing me
Back home.
On the last visit, my happy-hearted feathered friend
Holding a symbol of continuity
She sang to me, of infinity and of eternity.
Oh, how I wait to sing with you in harmony.

Poetry

Clever North Wind

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clever north wind

Clever North Wind
The wind visited me last night,
Rustling my leaves and chilling my aching bark.
She felt cruel and unyielding at first
But softened into a wavelike drag.
Lifting the heavy parts of my old branches,
Giving relief to my sinking roots,
Raising me from my bed of dampened soil and
Gracefully uplifting my oftentimes laden and restless sagacity.
In moments of change, I weary with tiredness
Again, I must grow?
Yet, with her winds I feel her ever-love for movement
The flood of celebration and gift of newness,
A remembrance of childhood sprouting.
Almost like falling asleep,
Beginning with a slow birth
And then a sudden and complete surrender,
I am bewitched by her breeze of arriving seasons.
A wild delirium for nature’s will to be done.
Influence my stems, lead me where you need me
Raise my creaking camphorwood,
And then admire how I blossom.
For what is change without appreciation?
My sweet wind, you are the causation and
The heiress to all of springtime.
Another growth-ring appears,
A recorded reflection of age and time
To cut me in half would reveal my wisdom
But it would also unveil that I took courage from thine.

Poetry, Self-Help

Her

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her

Cry for the little girl whose mommy always cries
Cry for the little girl whose daddy is never home
Who overhears loud fighting
And crashes in the middle of the night.
Cry for the little girl who stopped getting lullabies.
Cry for the little girl who had a nightmare one night
And who crawled into her mommy and daddy’s bed for comfort.
Cry for the little girl whose daddy touched her between her legs
Cry for the little girl who didn’t want to hurt her daddy
but she was getting hurt, too
So she hit him
And hit him
And hit him.
Cry for the little girl who went back to bed
Cry for the little girl who woke up confused, wet with urine,
And no one talked to her.
Cry for the little girl who made herself believe it was just her nightmare
The nightmare that she will have for decades to come.
The nightmare that will come back
Again, and again, and again, and again.
Cry for the little girl whose mommy started drinking
Whose lungs are burning and aching with smoke.
Cry for the little girl whose sister began to get angry
Who was placed in a dryer and had it turned on
Who was locked in a meat freezer
Who was electrocuted
And drowned
And beaten with a rock
And still has all the scars to prove it.
Cry for the little girl who slept outside one night
And no one noticed she was gone.
Cry for the little girl who slept outside for three weeks
And no one noticed she was gone.
Cry for the little girl who lost her virginity
And then he broke her rib
Cry for the little girl who was spit at, beat up and locked in lockers at school
Cry for the little girl whose mother threw chairs
And thought she was branded by Satan
And choked her daughters if they got out of line.
Cry for the little girl whose father was home now but too drunk to care.
Cry for the little girl who was drugged by boys
Again, and again, and again, and again
Cry for the little girl who started fantasizing about her father
Who loathed her own sexuality and was disgusted with her skin.
Cry for the little girl who fooled around with an older boy in a hot tub
Only to realize his friends were filming nearby
And what about that boyfriend that uploaded that video
The one of her going down on him to that porn site, cry about that too.
Cry for the little girl who was called a whore, a slut, easy, a piece of pussy, trash, loose, a bitch, a cunt, and such a fucking tease.
Cry for the little girl who had six,
Or was it seven
Fraternity boys attack her, rip her clothes off and throw them out the window.
Who went back home and had no one to tell.
Cry for the little girl who was raped by the neighbor boy
And still, 13 years later can’t drive down his road.
Cry for the little girl who was brave enough to leave and never look back.
Cry for the little girl who was raped again only one month later.
Remembering his piercing cold blue eyes, but was a total stranger.
Cry for the little girl whose doctor came in without gloves and forced himself inside her
Cry for the little girl whose masseuse went too high up her thigh
And wouldn’t stop, even when she cried.
Cry for the little girl who was assaulted three more times.
But can’t remember.
A silhouette of a person, an outline, a negative space cut out from reality.
Cry for the little girl whose memories began to evaporate from time
Cry for the little girl who was convinced by an older man that he could save her
Who just wanted to play with her
Who just wanted to use her, abuse her, degrade her, defile her, torture her and scar her
Again, and again, and again, and again
Cry for the little girl who was brave enough to leave and never look back.
Cry for the little girl who sought recovery.
Who faced her suicidal tendencies,
And her instincts to hurt and to hate.
Cry for the little girl who finally found her voice.
Once meager and weak
But now she could speak,
What a beautiful sound.
Cry for the little girl who learned about trust.
Not just in others, or herself, but in all of us.
Cry for the little girl who wanted her family again
And realized they were in more pain than her
So she cried for them.
Cry for the little girl who learned about love.
For the first time, feeling genuine care.
For being fearful of what she owed in return,
Realizing love is not a debt.
Cry for the little girl who learned how to make love.
With her spirit, her mind, her conscious body and her ever-grateful heart.
Cry for her joy, her returning childlike wonder, her intrigue with life.
Cry for her rejuvenation,
Her renewed sense of innocence
And Her resurrection.
Cry for the little girl that learned how to forgive.
Who prayed and cried for those who hurt her
For seeing clearly their pain like mountains over Her calm valley of water.
And once the tears have fallen, once they have rained into Her river
Watch them drift back to the sea
The vast horizon that is Her love
Not just for you, but for everybody.
Do not cry for the little girl, not anymore.
She does not want your tears.
This little girl has now lived for many years.
Cry for the sick, the disturbed, the tormented and weak.
Cry for their souls some refuge to seek.
Cry for their reflection, their need to introspect.
Cry for their lack of empathy and their inability to connect.
Cry for their healing, their cold and confused hearts.
Cry for our sake, for without their health we’ll all be pulled apart.
Our people are a hurting one, place your weapons down.
Speak up, trust, love
Only Her peace will be found.

Poetry

My Candle Burns For You

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my candle burns for you

My Candle Burns For You
Weeks go by,
Months even
My affections remain the same.
I stare at my candle
Unlit, blackened tip
Remembering our night
Under the stars
Under the flickering ceiling,
Under cover.
Silence, on a carpet
Silence, on a road
Silence, on the sand
Silence, on each other.
Wild and free
I am your home
As you are to me.
Delicate music
Plays in my ears
As I read you.
How is your day?
Come with me
Come with me tonight
Hold my hand
Again, and again, and again.
There you are.
I know your smell.
I saw you naked this morning,
Your skin is colder than mine
It’s okay though, it’s just fine.
Nothing will diminish
Your great beauty.
You call to me
Elementally, essentially
Taste the wild inside me.
My beloved garden.
My river of fireflies.
Write me, run with me
I am a woman,
Press your cheek against God’s
As you study my biology.
Meet me in the medial nature
As the man.
Search my skin
Break the rules
Prescient and visceral
Your tongue knows
My first language.
Thank you,
My binary star
And the infinite
Light that guided us home.
I place the unlit candle back.
Safe inside my drawer
For a later time
When I talk to you,
Once more.

Poetry

The Little Inventor

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CHINESE NEW YEAR

The Little Inventor
There once was a little girl
Who invented a time machine.
Sitting underneath her pine tree.
She clanked the parts together
Screwing a bolt in here
And hammering the metal down flat.
No one would believe her
Except something was different
The day that she came back.
Her voice had changed
Now soft and quiet.
And her eyes had aged, too.
Neighbors whispered, “problems at home.”
Her distant parents didn’t know what to do.
Teachers would advise private school,
Doctors peddled medicines,
The little girl just sat calmly, staring lightly
Awaiting more problematic comparisons.
She saw this day, the days between
The days before.
Wearing an uncomplicated smile
Daydreaming, breathing
Of the memories at the shore.
She kept growing up, growing older
Almost surprised with every year.
Lovers tried to learn her
Family always concerned with her
As she lived a life free, and without fear.
She saw her parents die,
And bore many children.
She loved, and loved, and loved
With abandon.
Yet, only the moon understood
How she circled ’round and ’round
Admiring and witnessing
Watching and waiting,
But never really feeling
Her feet plant in the ground.
Without questions and patiently present
Dancing in her favorite dream.
Reliving and rendezvousing with
Familiar faces, in slightly new spaces
Projecting from her mind
Onto a private movie screen.
A once young time traveler
Now faded and aging into her foreshadowed scenery
Elasticity leaving her once supple skin.
Lovingly longing out the window at the pine tree greenery.
Why did she come back to this life, one might wonder?
The stars sang of exaltation, relief of recognition
The moon now sighing at the poetry of her rendition.
She jumped in puddles,
Kissed a doe on the nose.
Sang so loud her voice gave out
And smelled an evening primrose.
Now standing at the foot of her shore,
Awaking as the little girl once more
Under her pine tree,
On Earth’s loving floor.

Philosophy, Self-Reflection

Are You Ready? Winter Solstice, Full Moon & A Meteor Shower This Weekend!

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MOONLIGHT ASSIGNMENT

I don’t know if you are as hippie as I am, or if you’ve been feeling this lately as well, but there is a freeing sensation in the air.  An awakening.  I’ve been lighter these past two days. The grief is present but it’s not aching, I have finally slept 3 nights in a row without nightmares and my heart is settled and planted firmly in my chest.

I was wondering what this was all about, because the last time I felt a shift of this magnitude was during the autumnal solstice. I did some quick Googling, (sidebar: I really don’t like using “Google” as a verb), only to find that this weekend is not only the winter solstice, but it’s also going to have a full moon and a meteor shower. I am vibrating with excitement!

During the autumnal solstice, I was not ready.  I was unstable, anxious as all hell, missing my partner who was out on tour, and our wedding was like 8 days away and everything felt like it was falling to pieces.  Fortunately, for this solstice, I am super ready.

I am ready to embrace this season of transformation.  I have been in darkness for months, I have felt the pain, the loss, the depression, the shadows and I am learned.  I have new discoveries in my heart and in this moment I feel prepared to self-reflect and free them into the powers of this moon and welcome the light to come.

The winter solstice is a time of major change.  On the northern hemisphere, it’s the longest night all year.  On the southern hemisphere it is the longest day.  With such a sharp contrast, it reminds everyone that with darkness, light will come and with light, darkness will follow.

It’s not about longing for one, or being distressed with the other – it’s about accepting that both are present at all times.  There is light and darkness in the world, in each of us, in all things – there is a sun and there is a place of no sun.

It’s about allowing these polarities to flow through us as the universe allows both the sun and moon to gravitate around Earth simultaneously.

Alongside this time of acceptance, we have our beautiful first winter solstice full moon since 2010, with the next one not returning until 2094.  A special occasion to be witnessed.

To some, this moon is also called the Long Nights Moon, or the Cold Moon. With the power full moons bring, it really delivers the weight of introspection, heart-searching and renewal.

Full moons often remind us of our wisdom and our intuition and if you’re in a calm state of mind, you will receive some very positive influence during this winter moon.  But, if you’re feeling a bit chaotic or disoriented, the full moon could increase your emotional state due to her powerful energy. Be gentle with yourselves and know it’s okay to be quiet.

With this beautiful combination of the wise full moon and the reflective winter solstice, I feel the urge to dive inside.  I’m reminded of this time to hibernate, to recharge, to fatten up.  I’ve been storing all of this darkness, and foraging for education in the experiences around me and now it’s time.  It’s time to allow the cold moon to light up my inner silent voice.

With the end of the year being a phase of completion, I’m looking forward to honoring the light and dark inside myself.  I plan to greet myself wholly as I am and becoming more fluid with my solar gravitational pull.

Now, if both of these weren’t incredible enough, the Ursid meteor shower will also be taking place Friday and Saturday nights.  We’re expected to receive about 5-10 per hour, but some have said that in the country it’s possible to see upwards of 100 in a burst.

The showers can be seen between the big and litter dippers – Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, from which the shower was named. The showers will start around 1:00am in the north-northeastern sky.  But with the full moon in bloom, the viewing might be affected from the harsh glare. The pre-dawn hours are usually the most favorable for viewing.

It’s a time to delight in!  It’s a season of mistletoe, cinnamon, nutmeg, deep reds and lush greens, pine cones and wood.  It’s rich and earthly everywhere and the warmth of the people are all around.  If you are in the darkness, hibernate and listen deeply while the sage moon guides you into welcoming the light.  If you are already feeling the sun rotating your way, open your home and heart for it is a time of generosity.

Veneration
Have you ever lived in a dream?
“I’m in one right now,” whispered the little blackbird.
My song is the most beloved,
And I like it best after a rain.
Usually I sleep at night, but not now,
Tonight, there is a beautiful refrain.

Poetry

Just Words

by Purpose and Prose9 Comments on Just Words

JUST WORDS

Just Words
I will spend my lifetime searching,
Wandering the pathways,
Pacing through the corridors.
I have already hiked down an Austrian mountain
And yet, I haven’t found them.
I drove across the country from a small town farm in Michigan
Sleeping in my car for days
Winking at the moon and blowing kisses to the stars.
I once saw a baby greet a Christmas light with the tip of her tiny nose
And yet, they still allude me.
Sunsets have poured over hills and valleys,
I have heard lonely trains ring out in the night.
I flew in a helicopter with a glass floor and marveled at the grass below.
But where are they?
“Longing” sounds too friendless.
“Wanting” sings of desperation.
Those are not the right ones.
I’m searching for something sweet.
A seeker, traveler, an old nomadic people,
A people who make love everywhere except a bed.
We are out there and we are adventuring.
All in the hopes of finding them.
“Adore” feels commonplace
“Rapture” has an aftertaste of leaving
“Treasure” is not rare enough.
Yet, I have not grown tired,
Nourishment and apostles lead the way.
My footsteps are one of many, but they are of my own.
With every mile and exhale of relief, I hear your names.
Painters are drinking sangria in Madrid,
Musicians are caught flirting with their eyes
All the while, I am sleeping just to dream about you.
In South Africa, a baby black rhinoceros coos for her mother’s milk,
And bright blue nameless birds fly over a harsh and tanned grassland.
The clever wind knows where to take me, another nameless bird.
Like the soft and marbled clouds, I float and watch and wonder.
“True” inching closer…
“Providence” there is wisdom, but there is no pulse.
What language do the God’s speak?
Have they found them yet? Or were they the first and forever hopeful mercenaries?
Will I always be too human to hear them?
Children and babies have slept in my arms
And so did you, once.
In my love for you, in my pursuit of you,
Oh my dear,
I will one day find the…